Red Letter Day
by iWritexx
Summary: Jimmy Darling is trying to make his way in a life that has been carved out for him- one he isn't sure that he is ready to accept. Bridget Cooper just needs a place to exist in a world that she doesn't trust. Can they fight their demons together, or will the secrets of their pasts and the cruel world around them destroy any hope for a future?
1. 1 Jimmy

I felt completely invisible, invincible, and free. I smiled at people on the street and they smiled back. I recognized a few of them from the show, although they didn't recognize me; they were looking at my face instead of my hands, which were beautifully concealed inside a pair of large wool mittens. So far no one had pointed out that it was strange for me to be wearing mittens in the Florida heat.

Oh, what luxury normal people had, to be entitled to their own privacy. There was a part of me that wanted so badly to rip the mittens off and shove my hands in their faces and scream, "Look! You treated me like a normal person! You didn't even know until I showed you!" However, previous experiences stopped me from causing a scene. If the gloves came off, so would my warm cloak of anonymity.

I opened the door to the small diner next to the barber shop. The smell of frying bacon and coffee greeted me, causing a wide smile to stretch across my face. I looked around the diner and was pleased to see that no one even looked up upon me entering. They all carried on eating as though a freak hadn't just waltzed into their midst. Had I been without gloves, their reaction would have been very different.

I noticed a pretty brunette waitress smiling at me to the right. I looked over my shoulder to see who she could have been smiling at. My heart fluttered when I realized it had to be me, since no one else was there. No matter how many girls I managed to flirt with when my disguise was on, the feeling I got when a pretty girl smiled at me was indescribable. Every time was like the first time.

I returned her smile and slid onto a stool in her section, removing my hat but not my gloves.

"What can I get ya?" She asked me, snapping her gum and twirling her pony tail around her finger.

I winked at her, "As long as you're my waitress, I've got everything I need." The blush that crept up her neck and inflamed her cheeks caused my smile to widen.

"I haven't seen you in here before." She pulled out an empty mug and a pot of coffee from under the counter.

"I just got into town." I told her as she poured me a cup. Technically, not a lie. We had been here only two months.

"Where were you previously?" She asked, giving me a wink that told me the coffee was on the house.

"I've been riding my motor bike across the country. I'm staying at a beautiful resort. Ocean views and everything. You'd love it." Okay, total lie. By "resort" I meant "dingy camp" and by "ocean views" I meant "swamp".

As if I had said the magic words, the waitress gasped, leaned in and put her chin in her hand. I had her undivided attention.

"I just love motor bikes!" She gushed.

I placed my gloved hand on the counter between us, amused that only a few inches and layer of wool separated her from her worst nightmare. "I can take you for a ride sometime." I lied and inched closer. She bit her lip and dropped her eyelids. Looking up at me from under her lashes, she purred.

"Or we could just skip the ride and you could take me back to your place."

Just as I opened my mouth to reply I felt a body slide onto the stool next to me. A familiar German accent asked, "Excuse me?" I groaned inwardly and turned to face Elsa, the proprietor of our little band of misfits. She pulled a lighter from the pocket of her coat and placed it in the palm of my gloved hand, "I can't seem to get this thing to work. Would you help?"

I glared at Elsa and then at the lighter in my hand. I couldn't light it with my mittens on, and I couldn't take them off. Elsa knew that. I was distinctly aware of the pretty waitress watching our exchange. I glowered at Elsa. All I wanted was one day where I could pretend I was a normal man, even if it was a lie. Was that too much to ask?

"Is this your mom?" The daft waitress asked me. Elsa looked deeply offended. If I hadn't been so tensed I would have laughed at the wounded look on Elsa's face. I turned to the waitress.

"Scram, toots." I dismissed the waitress. She gave me a stricken look before turning her nose up in the air and harrumphing away to poor coffee to the customers she ignored while she had been talking to me.

Elsa waited until she was out of earshot before hissing at me, "You ungrateful little shit." She swore, "I finally found a place where we can live and you want to risk it all for some random little tart." I dropped my eyes and stared at the counter, trying to swallow the biting words I so desperately wanted to say.

"Do you think that you with all your charm will be able to get her to look past your deformity?" Elsa continued. I half expected her to start foaming at the mouth, "What happens when she sees you?" She dropped her gaze to the mittens on my hands, "All of you?"

"Wake up, Elsa!" I snapped, "We're done. It's over! We can barely sell tickets anymore!" Elsa slammed her hand on the table, making the silverware clatter and causing the attention of the diner to be directly on us.

"No!" Her eyes were wild, "I have found a new act. One that will put us back on the map; make us a destination."

As I stared at her wild eyes and lined face, pity found its way to my heart. But it was not without disgust as well. There was something both endearing and pathetic about her desperation.

The clock on the wall read quarter to four. If I didn't move fast, I was going to be late.

"I gotta go, Elsa." I said as I stood, snatching my hat off the counter and shoving it onto my head, "I have a previous engagement. Someone has to bring in some money so we can eat." I strode passed her and stepped out onto the street. I cracked my neck, agitated. Damn Elsa! Damn her to hell. I had heard her conversation with the man who rented us his field earlier this morning. His wife didn't like having a band of freaks living behind her house. As much as it had stung to hear, I couldn't blame her. We were unwanted everywhere by everyone. If they could just see, we are just people, like them, our lives could be completely different.

I let out a breath I didn't know I had been holding and swore. Now I had to make up for the time Elsa had cost me. Reluctantly, I started running.

I wiped my brow with the back of my disfigured hand and smiled at the woman writhing on the bed in front of me. This was my third party in two weeks.

One night, about a month ago, I was approached while having a cigarette by a house wife who had taken a wrong turn. The pretty blonde had walked up to me and asked to bum a smoke. Of course, I obliged. She looked funny standing beside me in front of a dirty circus tent in her heels and pearls, smoking a cigarette.

She looked at my hands while she smoked with a look in her eyes that told me she was after more than just a cigarette.

Coaxing her into my trailer had been much easier than I had expected and getting her to the bed even easier than that. She had opened her legs for me, her eyes everywhere but on my face.

When it was over she opened her purse and laid some bills on my night stand. She turned and asked me if I cared to 'entertain' at a party she was throwing, an "All ladies soaré" and wasn't I just the thing to relax all her high-strung friends?

She didn't see my jaw drop or my stricken expression because she still refused to meet my eyes.

"I'll pay you $25 per party, and I am sure the ladies will tip you as well."

I stared hard at her face, forcing her to look at me. My wounded pride struggled with our desperate need for money. If I could make enough from these house wives, I could save enough money to someday get me and my family out of this life for good. Money equaled freedom; everyone knew that.

"When and where, toots?"

When it was over the woman on the bed sighed with pleasure, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

"Oh my god." She whispered to herself, opening her balled fist and letting a few coins drop onto the bed spread. She couldn't even hand them to me. I looked away.

"I wonder," she asked, crossing the room and opening the door, "I am having a little get-together with some friends next Sunday. My husband is on a business trip and I could use a little fun."

"Leave your address and the date with the hostess. She will make sure I get it when she pays me. My fee is $25 per party. Make sure they know how to tip." I could hear the edge in my voice, but the woman didn't seem to notice.

"That's fine." She said before walking through the door and closing it behind her.

I turned and faced the full length mirror that stood next to the dresser. I let myself imagine that this was my house, that the next woman who would walk through that door was my wife, and that when she got here, _she_ would touch _me_. I imagined that she loved me, that we had two kids sleeping in the room across the hall. I imagined that I was normal.

My eyes fell onto the reflection of my hideous 'claws' and I shook my head to dispel the silly fantasy. That life was never in the cards for me. The best I could hope for was to save up enough money to buy some land where I could live with my family of misfits. Growing what we needed far away from the cruelty of society.

I turned when I heard the door creak and came face to face with a pretty brunette in a yellow party dress, standing in the doorway. She looked terrified. Burying my feelings, I smiled at her.

"Don't worry, baby." I purred, "I don't bite."


	2. 2 Bridget

The large wooden sign read 'Jupiter Florida. Population: 15,000'. I sighed and rested my forehead against the window of the bus. The old man sitting next to me had boarded the bus after me in Georgia, and he had fallen asleep almost as soon as his ass hit the seat. The old fellow had remained that way for the entire trip; he never opened his eyes.

I clutched my pocket book, containing the only money I had to my name; a meager amount that I had pilfered little by little for the last three years. It was nowhere near the amount I had hoped to have when I first began saving, but the opportunity knocked and I had to answer, ready or not. I did what I had to do, dyed my hair, packed a bag and left.

The first few blocks of Jupiter were dotted with family stores: a bait and tackle shop, a small diner, a nail salon. At the laundry mat, a little kid kid licking an ice cream cone pressed her sticky fingers against the plate-glass window while her mother folded laundry.

When I was a real girl, my mother would take me to church on Sundays. And on the days when my father couldn't come because he was working on another book, she would take me for ice cream afterwards. She would always get chocolate in a waffle cone and I always got whatever strange flavor du jor they offered. Invariably, I would hate whatever strange thing I ended up ordering and my mother would trade me. She never told me that I couldn't order Cucumber Lemon ice cream, she just dutifully ordered what she knew I really liked.

The memory brought a tear to my eye that I hastily wiped away. No more time spent crying. What's over is over and there is only forward. I dug into my pockets and pulled out my pack of Lucky Strikes and a box of matches. It was with shaky fingers that I placed a cigarette between my lips and lit it. The bitter smoke filled my lungs and I exhaled with relish.

Outside the window the stores were giving way to large houses and farms, more and more space separating them the further out we traveled. I glanced to my left at the old timer sleeping, while I took another drag from my cigarette. He had still not moved, save for swaying slightly with the movement of the bus. At that moment I was lurched forward and I felt the seat drop from under me. A small "oh!" of suprise escaped my lips before I landed. The bus had hit a pot-hole. I shook my head while other passengers murmured and grumbled. I looked again to my left, sure that the impact had finally woken the man next to me. I swallowed hard when I realized it had not. It had, however, tossed his body into an unnatural slumped position that had to be uncomfortable.

"Sorry about that, folks!" the bus driver called, looking in his rear-view mirror to make sure everyone was okay.

Someone was not okay. I held my breath, my cigarette long forgotten in my right hand and slowly reached my left out toward the man's lifeless form; inching forward until my pinky grazed his. I snapped my hand back and recoiled. Dropping my cigarette, I stood too quickly and banged my head on the overhead luggage compartment. "Please!" I called "Please, stop the bus!"

I stumbled passed the man's legs, careful not to touch him, as I tripped out into the isle. I didn't care that the bus hadn't stopped moving. I opened the overhead luggage storage and pulled out my suitcase and my sketchbook.

"I have to get off."

The driver looked at me with wide eyes in the mirror. "Here, miss? I have to tell you; not far from here-"

"No...uhm- I mean, Yes!" I stuttered, "This is my stop."

"Whatever you say, lady." He pulled his air-break and pulled off to the shoulder of the deserted road. As soon as the doors were open wide enough for me to squeeze through I was out the door. I ran toward a line of trees in the distance, my heels sinking into the grass. My lungs were on fire, my stomach was churning; acid spilling up into my throat.

As soon as I reached the trees I braced myself on one and deposited the meager contence of my stomach onto the ground.

When I was able to stop dry heaving, I took a few steps backwards, threw my arms out to my sides and fell back against the grass. The cool blades tickled my legs through my stockings.

Everywhere I went, I brought death. I was worse than a black cat. I was a jinx, a murderer. I wondered where the old man was headed when he boarded the bus back in Georgia. It seemed like a million years ago. He was alone. A widower maybe? On his way to see his children? Were they waiting at a bus depot somewhere, his favorite candy in hand, anxiously waiting to see their dad? Or had the bus already arrived and left, their father nowhere in sight? Were they worried right now? Making calls to the bus company, family, the police? "Have you heard from dad?"

Or was he just like me? A sad person, alone and just looking for a place to exist? Somehow that thought broke my heart more than the thought of him having a family. Was that destined to be me? Someday I'll die alone on a bus, next to a mess of a girl with dyed black hair and scared eyes, never having found it. I dug my fingernails into the grass beneath me.

When I was a real girl I had blonde hair. I believed in mermaids and girls in white dresses, and princesses and knights. My name was Elizabeth Cooley and I had made my mother laugh when I stamped my foot and wailed, "I don't want to be a princess! I want to be a knight!"

"Why?" She had asked me simply. There was no judgement or disdain in her voice. She just wanted to know my reason.

"I'm not going to just sit around waiting for some guy to slay the dragon! I'll do it myself!"

"I'll do it myself." I whispered now, picking myself up off the ground. I smoothed my new hair back into place as I fished my pocket for my cigarettes and a match. I took in my surroundings as I inhaled. The blood pressure spike that always accompanies a cigarette seemed to make my vision sharper. I felt more alert than I had since I left Georgia. I blew away the old memories with the smoke when I exhaled into the warm Florida air.

I spotted something that I hadn't noticed before, on one of the trees by which I had vomited. It was a poster, a bunch of names including "La Patit" , "Lobster Boy", and "The Siamese Sisters" were listed under the heading;

Fruelighnn Elsa's Cabinet of Curiosities.

Only upon entering will you learn it's secrets.

East. 2 miles

I folded the paper into small squares and put it in the pocket of my dress. In the same movement I extracted another cigarette and lit it with the burning end of my old one. I knelt to the ground and opened up my suitcase, took off my shoes and stockings and placing them inside. 2 miles wasn't much of a distance but it would be more comfortable barefoot. I picked up my sketchbook and my suitcase. Holding both in my right hand, I took off east whispering "I'll do it my self."


	3. 3 Jimmy

"You're sure hanging these banners is a good idea, Jimmy?" Paul asked in his thick, english accent. He was standing next to me on the side of the road watching Eve, "The Tall Lady", hang a banner on a street light. "I mean, the cops have been poking around enough as it is and now you say that they are looking for these two."

I knew he was talking about Bette and Dott; the new act that Elsa had found. I admit that I didn't believe her when she said she had found our saving act, but the two headed sisters were everything Elsa had said that they'd be. I shrugged, no, I wasn't sure. I had gone to Elsa with those very concerns. She had assured me that she had it under control. She would tell the cops that the twins had been with us for months. The alibi seemed flimsy to me to say the least, but I had to admit that they were our best chance at getting paying customers into the seats before the show tonight.

"You gotta have some faith, buddy." I put on a brave face and clapped Paul on the back. He looked as unsure as I felt. Eve stepped back and we all admired her handy work. Admittedly, Eve wasn't the most gifted artist. However her hands we better suited to the work than mine or Paul's. Hell, I could barely hold a pencil well enough to write my own name. Luckily my career didn't require much paper work.

"BEEEEEEEEEEP-BEEEP-BEEP-BEEEEP!" A car horn pulled our attention away from the banner and towards the expensive looking convertible that sped around the corner; taking it wide and banking the shoulder. I squinted and saw that it was full of guys about my age, and as soon as they saw the three of us standing on the side of the road they started hollering. I bristled; I knew what was coming.

"Shit." Eve whispered, her eyes widening as they sped closer.

"FREAKS!" They yelled as they zoomed past us. A beer bottle sailed through the air, making a wide arc before exploding at our feet, sending shards of glass skittering across the pavement.

My blood boiled. How dare they? They had the privilege of being normal, the world at their feet and they still had to make sure we knew we were lower than them. I took off running after the car, their words growing fainter and fainter. I only made it about three steps before Eve and Paul flanked me, grabbing onto my shoulders. I struggled to get free.

"Come say that to my face!" I screamed at the retreating car, knowing as I said it that it was a silly sentiment. Of course he would have said it to my face. Many people have. I wasn't a person to them. My breathing was labored; Eve rubbed my back in slow comforting motions. My muscles twitched under her large palm, still looking for a fight.

"I tell you, I can't stand it." I spat, still staring in the direction in which the car had left, though it was long gone, "The way they look at us, the way they treat us. It ain't right."

Eve sighed ruefully, "That's show business."

Ticket sales that night did not disappoint. The crowd, on the other hand, was sorely lacking. A lone girl had managed to purchase a ticket before some rich lady bought them all. What purpose it served to buy all the seats in a freak show for two people, I will never know, but I'll be damned if it didn't drum up some business just to turn people away. They assumed the show would be a hit and bought advanced tickets for the show tomorrow.

After the show, when we had all gathered around the stage to clean up and shoot the shit, the rich lady approached us. She informed us that her name was Gloria and that her companion was her son, Dandy. Then she dropped the bomb.

"How much?" She asked, nodding her head toward Bette and Dott. I blanched at her audacity. Even the desperate housewife who had approached me had the class to be discreet.

"My monsters are not prostitutes." Elsa snapped. I almost laughed. Then what was I? A turnip?

Gloria offered five thousand dollars. My eyes widened as I looked from Gloria to the twins and back again. Five thousand dollars? That made what I got from the house wives seem like chump change. I considered upping my price.

Elsa laughed and lit a cigarette, "For one, maybe, but there are two beauties here."

"Ten thousand." Gloria countered, looking smug while her demon spawn smiled darkly behind her. The entire exchange made my skin crawl. I didn't like the look in that kid's eyes, and I worried about what would happen to Bette and Dott if they happened to offer Elsa the right price.

Elsa and the girls themselves refused a final offer of fifteen thousand dollars. Dandy had stopped smiling and the smug look on Gloria's face was replaced with one of malice.

"I must say," Gloria snipped and she turned toward the flap of the big top, "the most freakish thing I saw tonight was your pathetic attempt at singing." She turned up her nose at Elsa's stricken face before calling, "Come along, Dandy." He scowled at us in a way that I assumed was supposed to scare us before turning and following his mother through the exit.

"What in the hell-" I began, but was interrupted by a loud "AHEM!" from what I had thought was empty seats. There was a young woman sitting alone in the back row. When she was sure she had our attention she stood and smoothed the skirt of her long sleeved dress. How strange, in the Florida heat. I noticed that a suitcase and a large, bound book sat on the seat beside her. She was a rather tall girl; six or so inches shorter than me. Her face was narrow, with high cheek bones and green eyes. A small smattering of freckles was sprinkled across her nose. Her black hair hung to her waist in curls that seemed to have been done in a hurry. I had definitely seen more beautiful women in my life, but there was fire in her green eyes that I found… intriguing.

Elsa seemed to have recovered from the rich lady's barbs, though the edge in her voice was evidence that she was still stung.

"What do you want?" She spat at the girl. I recognized the warning tone in Elsa's voice and braced myself to do damage control. The girl either didn't hear the annoyance in Elsa's voice or she chose to ignore it.

"Ma'am." She started, her voice was strangely musical, and there was a slight rasp to the music that was comforting somehow, "I am looking for a job." She continued, bluntly. There was no pussyfooting around with this girl. I respected that, even if her request was ridiculous.

Elsa scoffed and sucked on her cigarette. I turned my attention to the stranger again, scanning her body for a sign of an obvious deformity; one that would lead her to believe that that this cesspool was the best she could do.

"I don't just let any random person off the street join my freak show." Elsa continued, eying the girl, "There must be something..." Elsa trailed off, as though she were choosing her words carefully, "Special, about you." Elsa looked the girl up and down before scoffing, "You're completely average."

I rolled my eyes. Elsa said that like it was a bad thing, like she didn't know what any one of us would sacrifice for the chance to be average.

The girl smiled at Elsa's words. Such a wide smile should have looked silly on her narrow face, but somehow it didn't. She smiled with all the delight of a kid on Christmas morning before she lifted her hands to the buttons of her dress. She did not break eye contact with Elsa, and her smile didn't falter as she began to undress.

My eyes widened. What a night. First some batty old lady tried to buy Bette and Dott and now some lunatic was about to strip in front of the entire troop.

Wordlessly she pulled her right arm from the sleeve of her dress, revealing first the strap of a satin slip that threatened to send my blood south of the boarder, and then- oh, the art. Her entire arm, from her shoulder to wrist was covered in black ink; an intricate lace design, that looked like it had taken hours to complete. She removed her left arm next and I was again in awe. A lotus flower bloomed on her wrist, the words 'Hush, Hush, Hush" had been inscribed on her forearm, a flock of birds took off from a branch on her shoulder, and a dozen more.

The silence was so complete in the big top that I was sure that everyone around me could hear my heart slamming against my ribcage as she continued to remove her dress, dropping it so that it landed in a puddle at her ankles. I noticed that her bare feet and legs remained free of ink. She stood in front of us, in only her slip, smiling at Elsa. Slowly she reached down and grasped the hem of her slip, sliding it over the curve of her hip until she revealed her stomach. It was slightly concave in a way that made me wonder when the last time she had eaten was. A scene depicting the night sky drew my eyes away from the parts of her that my male anatomy was screaming at me to look at. She had included the planets, clusters of swirling galaxies; she had shaded the moon in a way that made it look like a compass pointing north. Like she had the universe in her belly.

I let my eyes travel the length of her beautiful body. I knew she didn't belong here. She wasn't a freak, she was art work. She belonged in a museum, not a freak show. Her tattoos were different than Paul's; his were meant to shock, while hers were something else, like she was born with them.

Her voice interrupted my thoughts, "I did them myself." She let the hem of her slip fall through her thin fingers where it swished around her thighs. By herself? If I wasn't impressed before I sure was after that. I couldn't imagine her sitting for hours carving beautiful things into her skin, wiping the blood and ink that spilled away, all by herself.

"You're not modest." Elsa nodded, looking at the girl with a different expression than the one she wore before she had taken off her clothes, "What's your name?"

The girl seemed to hesitate before answering and when she did her voice changed, like she tasted the words for the first time. "Bridget Cooper."

I narrowed my eyes at her; there was something underneath those words.

"I plan on completing my legs and feet while I'm here." Bridget picked her dress up from the floor, much to my disappointment. "There were...extenuating circumstances that didn't allow for me to complete them."

"Good." Elsa turned to leave. She didn't inquire about the 'extenuating circumstance' even though I was damn curious, "It can be part of your act. When you're finished we can come up with something else for you to do."

"Does this mean I'm hired?" Bridget asked happily while threading her arms back through her sleeves.

"On a trial basis." Elsa smirked at her before nodding to my mom - a silent signal that told my mom she had a job to do - and leaving us alone with the new recruit.

This will be interesting. I smiled to myself and watched as Bridget worked over her buttons. Very interesting.

**A/N:**

**I am very sorry for taking forever to write this chapter! I struggled deeply with it. My wonderful Beta Reader, Neowrella, assuaged my fears and absolutely saved this chapter! **  
><strong>I want to thank you all for all the faves, follows, and reviews. I am really excited about this story! I hope you all are too! I will update again much sooner than this one! <strong>

**xoxox **


	4. 4 Bridget

The smell of whiskey and burning flesh filled the air of the small tent that I had been given by Ethel Darling, the bearded lady and - I assumed - the second in command around the camp. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to ignore the noxious odor that woke me from my sleep.

"You little bitch." My father's voice rasped from the darkness. But his voice sounded different than the one he had inhabited in life. His speech was halted; weaker, sharper. Goosebumps crept up the lengths of my bare limbs as I bit my bottom lip, trying to control my fear.

The cot that I now called my bed creaked as an unknown pressure sank into the thin mattress by my legs. I slowly, reluctantly opened my eyes and immediately wished I hadn't. My father was sitting at the end of my bed, but it was not my father as I had last seen him. His skin was charred, burned; still smoking as though he had just crawled out of the flames. He glared at me through cloudy, sunken eyes with all the hatred in the world.

When he spoke, putrid smoke poured out of his mouth and carried the scent of his dead breath towards me. "My brains...boiled...in…my head." He rasped. I slapped my palms over my ears, pressed my eyes shut and screamed.

"I don't want to hear any more!"

He laughed a horrible, creaking laugh that ended in a coughing fit. I kept screaming in a feeble attempt to block out his laughter.

He stood quickly, his pace inhuman, and leaned over my bed. I scurried into the far corner of the cot, afraid he would hit me, or worse.

"Bridget!" He shouted, and laughed again. He called me 'Bridget'. How did he know of my new identity? I had been Elizabeth Cooley when he last saw me. I screamed again, the sound ripping from my throat.

He opened his mouth, the burnt skin at the corners ripping open with the motion; large amounts of black, coagulated blood escaped his throat. It completely covered the floor of my small tent and brought a repulsive, metallic smell with it, mixing with the already toxic air.

"Bridget!" He laughed, an awful choking sound amidst the thick blood dripping from his twisted mouth. I clawed at the tent walls, begging my fingernails to be sharp enough to catch a thread and tear through the canvas. My throat was raw from screaming.

Suddenly I was shaking. Not the trembling shake of the scared; It was like I was being forcibly shaken, my head snapping back and forth on my neck.

"Bridget!" I opened my eyes to find Jimmy – the lobster boy from the show last night – standing over my bed, gripping my shoulders and shaking me like he was trying to dislodge my brain.

I swatted his deformed hands away and scrambled to sit up straight. My eyes were straining in the dark, feverously searching around for any signs of my father.

Gone was the smoke and the stench of burning flesh. There was no river of rotten blood on the ground and my father was nowhere to be seen. It never happened. I was in the tent that I was now to call home. After the German Lady – who I later learned was named Elsa – had left, Ethel made the introductions quickly before declaring it to be "getting late" and rushing me off to bed. Not that I minded – I had been exhausted from traveling.

Jimmy was staring at me with his brows knitted together in the middle, obviously concerned. I was still breathing heavily, gratefully drinking in the sudden clean air. I tried to laugh, though it came out as more of a whimper than an act of joy.

"Bad dream." I said weakly and attempted what I hoped was a smile, praying he wouldn't ask me about it.

Jimmy shoved his hands in his pockets and shook his head.

"Hell of a bad dream. I heard you crying all the way from my trailer." Crying? I had been screaming...hadn't I? My throat still felt raw, "I thought I would come in here and find you home sick," He shook his head while he continued, "But you were thrashing around in your bed, and sobbing so hard I thought you were being attacked."

I shook my head as I felt humiliated and let my dark hair fall around my bare shoulders, "What a great first night." I sighed and rubbed my eyes, they felt like they were full of broken glass.

I was embarrassed to find that my cheeks were wet. Jimmy opened his mouth to say something else but was interrupted by a sudden cry, begging for help.

"Please! No, go away! Go away!"

Jimmy and I looked at one another for a beat before we sprang to our feet and ran out of my tent into the warm Florida night. I barely had time to come around to reality. We ran wordlessly through the camp, searching for the source of the distressed call. If someone had told me two weeks ago that I would be running through a freak-show camp with a man with lobster claws, I would have told them that they were insane, yet here I was.

I followed Jimmy into a small tent not far from the big top where I had met my new pseudo family for the first time last night. I was not prepared to see Dott and Bette, the 'Siamese Sisters' from last night's performance laying terrified in their cot while a man in a suit stood over their bed, sneering.

"What's going on here?" Jimmy asked, stepping between the man and the sisters.

I took the opportunity to run to their bed side. While taking Bette's hand in both of my own, I could clearly feel her shaking. I had learned last night before I went to bed, that it was also their first night with the carnival. At least my attacker had been a dream. This man was flesh and blood and undeniably real. I couldn't imagine how scared they must have been.

"These two are my prime suspects in a murder investigation." The man protested before reaching into his breast pocket and producing a badge that he held out for Jimmy to inspect. My blood turned cold when I realized he was a police officer. Quickly, I dipped my head, letting my hair fall into my face, effectively – I hoped – concealing my identity from the cop.

"Bette and Dott never hurt anyone!" Jimmy protested, still keeping him from advancing on the girls.

Bette gripped my hand tightly, and I squeezed back.

"Then why did they high-tail it out of the hospital?" Jimmy didn't seem to have an answer to that, so the officer continued. "The way I see it, these two murdered their mother, and tried to cover it up. I wouldn't be surprised to find out that they were involved in the other murders happening around Jupiter."

Other murders? I bit my lip. What other murders? I made a note to brush up on the current events of a town before I moved there in the future.

"That's a lie!" Dott screeched, indignant at the accusation. I reached over and rubbed her shoulder to silence her. It would do no good to aggravate him.

"So that's it then?" Jimmy asked, sounding every bit as angry as Dott, "Case closed?"

"Look at them!" The officer shouted, "They're monsters!"

Jimmy stiffened, and I felt the air change around us. The tension was palatable. "Don't call them monsters." Jimmy was oddly calm, but there was a threatening edge to his voice.

"I call a spade a spade." The officer scoffed and pulled out his handcuffs. The sight of the mettle glinting in the moonlight made my breath catch. I held tighter to Bette's hand.

"You're not taking them." Jimmy said, the warning tone was evident in his voice, I peeked through the strands of my hair to see the officer's reaction; he laughed.

"Who's gonna stop me?"

Jimmy whistled a low tune, never breaking eye contact with the cop. After a beat of silence, Paul – who also had tattoos covering most of his body – opened the flap of the tent and walked through, followed by the tall lady, Eve. The two flanked Jimmy on either side. The woman with no legs crawled on her hands into the tent and took her spot beside Eve. I had to admit that they painted a very threatening picture. The cop was silent as he assessed his situation. I watched him reach toward his belt and almost threw up when I heard him cock his gun.

Please, I begged silently, no more death. I closed my eyes, trying my hardest to disappear.

"Tomorrow morning I will be coming back with my boys and we are gonna run you freaks out of town."

"Don't call us freaks!" Jimmy's voice boomed across the camp, I was sure he had woken everyone who was still asleep in their tents or trailers. His face changed, his eyes darkened.

"I'll call you whatever I want." The officer scoffed, clearly not intimidated. I shuddered, thankful that I wasn't standing in his shoes. "You, frea-"

His sentence was cut short. I snapped my head up, to see what had transpired, and was rendered paralyzed when the cop fell backward, landing a few feet from where I sat, trying to console the sisters. I scrambled backward on my hands to get away from the blood that was pouring from a gaping wound in his neck. Jimmy had slashed his throat. I slapped my hand over my mouth to hold in the scream that bubbled into the back of my throat. Jimmy was breathing heavily, his eyes wild, like he couldn't believe it himself what he had just done.

"You saved us." Bette said dreamily, her grateful face tipped toward Jimmy.

He turned his attention to them and visibly softened. It was fascinating. First he came to save me – thankfully it had turned out to be a false alarm – and then Bette and Dott. It didn't take a genius to see how protective he was of the people here.

He seemed to remember me in that moment and extended one of his strange hands toward me. I grasped it tightly and let him pull me to my feet.

"What are we going to do with the body?" Paul asked.

We all looked to one another; no one wanted to say what we all knew we had to do.

I sighed and broke the silence, "Eve," I addressed the tall lady, "Help me grab a leg. Paul and Jimmy, you grab his shoulders."

"I didn't know you had it in you." Jimmy told me two hours later as he was walking me back to my tent.

We had just dropped Bette and Dott off at theirs and I was exhausted to the bone. I looked down at my nightgown. It was stained with blood and dirt. I knew he was talking about how I had taken the lead on what to do with the body of the officer. It was Jimmy's idea to give each of the people in the show a knife so that we would all have a hand in the disposal of the body, no motivation to tell.

I shrugged. "It had to be done."

He cocked one eyebrow at me, expecting me to say more. I kept my lips firmly closed and pretended I didn't see the suspicion in his eyes. _Stupid, idiot, stupid, dumb, stupid_. I chastised myself. I should have let Jimmy run off to save the day on his own. I could be asleep right now, not knowing anything.

We reached my tent just as the sun was coming up. I yawned and reached for the flap but Jimmy pushed my hand away.

"I'm not stupid. So why don't you just tell me who you are and what the hell you're doing here?" The sudden malice in his voice caused my doors to lock and my walls to go up.

"I don't know who you think you are," I spat, stepping forward so that his nose was level with my eyes, "But who I am is none of your god damn business."

He looked like he hadn't expected my reaction. Encouraged by this I pressed on.

"I'm not some weak little woman that you can push around," He opened his mouth to interrupt me but I raised my voice, "Why don't we just stay out of each other's way?"

He closed his mouth and regarded me though narrowed eyes. I stared back.

"Whatever." He finally broke the silence and looked away.

I win, I thought smugly. I turned on my heel and padded into my tent, leaving him standing dumbfounded outside my door.

I held my breath until I heard his footsteps move away. I deflated and collapsed onto my cot, the springs squeaking under my weight. I wondered if this is what my entire life was doomed to be like. My father tortured me in life and now in death he torments my dreams. How could I escape this labyrinth of misery that I had been stuck in since I killed my mother?

When I was a little girl and my mother was having one of her bad spells, I used to crawl into bed with her and tuck myself under her arm. She smelled like vanilla, even after lying in bed for days. She never registered the movement but I knew that she knew I was there.

Now lying in my cot, I wished so badly I had her arm around me that if I tried really hard, I could almost feel it.

**A/N: **  
><strong>Hello! My beautiful Beta reader, Neowrella, sent Ch.4 back to me a million times better than the rough version I sent her. I am so pleased! She is amazing. <strong>  
><strong>Thank you all for favoritingfollowing/reviewing. I had no idea anyone would even be interested in it, so I am blown away by it's reception. **  
><strong>THANK YOU x 100000<strong>  
><strong>Reviews are appreciated! <strong>

**xoxoxox**


	5. 5 Jimmy

**A/N:**

**Hey guys! Once again, this is a rough chapter I've uploaded before my wonderful beta gets a chance to polish these chapters up for me. Please come back and re-read them once she gets done with them. I promise they will be ten times better! **

The events from last night played in my mind's eye like a movie. Me running into Bridget's tent, Bridget and me running into Bette and Dott's, me slashing the officer's throat, all the blood. I shuddered and sat down on my threadbare armchair that had been abandoned on the side of the road. I ran my deformed fingers over the fabric and imagined all the people who had sat in it before me. I don't know what had possessed me to confront Bridget the way I did; whether it was temporary insanity or just the defiant set of her jaw that caused me to do what I did. Under normal circumstances I would never have done such a thing. I was sure she was already uncomfortable in her new surroundings and on her first night I interrogated her like a criminal. Sure, I was distrustful of the stranger but that gave me no right to do what I did.

My fingers slid from the arm of the chair and up to my face where I sighed and cradled my chin in my hand. Glancing out my dusty window I was surprised to see a red pick-up truck pulling a trailer on a hitch kicking up dust as it sped toward the camp. I squinted in confusion, but was interrupted when the door to my trailer banged open.

My mother poked her bearded face around the corner, "You had better not be late to rehearsal today," she warned with her serious face on, "We are working on the Twin's act."

She had deep lines around her eyes and a tired look in them, this life had taken it's toll on her.

"I'll be there on time." I sighed.

My mother walked all the way into the trailer, the tiredness in her eyes was replaced with a look of sad understanding.

"You did a good thing last night, Jimmy." She sat heavily in the chair opposite me. I thought she would have been furious when I told her about the cop, instead she seemed almost relieved. I was a little disjointed, I could barely look at myself.

"I did what I had to do, but I will never be sure that it was the right thing." I shook my head and looked her in her tired eyes, daring her to disagree.

"You protected our home." She leaned forward, returning my stare with even more determination.

I scoffed, "Some home."

"Hey!" My mother used her scary mom voice that used to scare me shitless as a kid, but now just frustrated me, "Elsa's done a good thing for us!"

"Ugh!" I grunted as I got to my feet, kicking the chair on which I had previously been sitting, "She only cares about herself, her supposed stardom! It's pathetic!" I snapped.

I was answered by a sharp slap in the face; hard enough to hurt, but not badly. I placed a hand on my red cheek and glared at my mother.

"This is the best kind of life that people like us can hope for." It broke my heart to hear the woman who raised me say such a thing with so much conviction.

I softened, "There has to be someplace we can buy cheap land." I pleaded, all the venom left my voice, "We can live off the land!"

My mom shook her head as if dismissing the conversation, "you just worry about getting yourself to rehearsal in time." She turned and walked slowly toward the door but stopped short of it. She turned back to me, a small smile on her face as she pointed at me, "And that doesn't mean the last five minutes, mister. I have to go and collect the twins."

I waited until I heard the door bang shut behind her before I let the corners of my mouth tug upward in a smile. But it was a fleeting sensation, every damn day was the same around here; we wake up, clean the camp, rehearse our acts, drink heavily until we have to parade our deformities around on stage for people with deep pockets and normal lives, drink heavily until we pass out, wake up and repeat.

I, myself, had never been a fan of drinking, but on occasion, or a particularly bad night i had been known to imbibe. I always swore to myself that the moment I ever felt as though I truly needed the alcohol I would never touch the shit again. Some of my friends weren't so lucky to have that voice of reason. I dreamed of a day when they could get help, and live lives full of the love and respect that they deserved.

I sighed and looked out my window, where I saw Elsa shaking hands with a beautiful black woman while a man who looked like he could lift my entire trailer with one hand surveyed the camp with his hands around his waist. Looked like I wasn't the only one who was going to be late.

I winced as i walked up to the big top; it sounded for all the world like someone was setting fire to a cat in heat. I flipped open the door to the tent and was shocked to hear that god-awful sound coming from sweet Bette Tattler.

I noticed Bridget sitting off to the side, her sketchbook resting on her knees as she drew furiously, a cigarette sat between her fingers and her tongue stuck out between her full lips. I almost wanted to laugh, before I remembered what an asshole I was to her last night. I looked away, ashamed of myself and making a mental note to apologize later.

"I'm sorry." Bette said, looking down when the woman whom I had seen leave Elsa's tent stopped playing the piano.

"We'll find something else for you to do." Elsa said, waving her hand dismissively and lighting a cigarette, "Juggling, perhaps."

"What about Dott?" Bridget's voice carried from where she was sitting away from the rest of us. Her talent wasn't really one that could be rehearsed; it was just kind of...do or die.

Bette giggled demurely, "Dott doesn't have any talent." The way she said it made it sound as though the very idea was preposterous. I felt bad for Dott, especially when she looked down and said, "it's true. I don't even know that song."

Bridget shrugged and went back to sketching, but I wasn't about to let it go that easily, "So pick a different song." I smiled reassuringly and approached the stage, "Pretend like you're just singing to me."

Dott softened under my encouragement and after a moment she stepped up to the microphone. She opened her mouth and blew everyone away. Her voice was sweet, though underdeveloped, but that would only get better with practice. Even Bridget looked up from her doodling. For a moment I thought I saw her smile, but I quickly dismissed it as a trick of the light; I hadn't seen her smile since she had shown us her tattoos.

When Dott stopped singing the door of the tent opened and the Large man I had seen leaving Elsa's tent walked in, clapping.

"That will do real nice for the show today.." He smiled.

Elsa blanched, "There is a curfew in place! There will not be a show tonight."

We all watched the exchange silently, unsure of who this new interloper was.

"We'll have a matinee." The man shrugged, brushing off Elsa's excuse like a pesky mosquito.

"People don't come to see Freaks in the heat of the day!" Elsa stood her ground, "They come at night. Matinee's are for kiddy shows. This is a real freak show. MY freak show."

"Dell," Came the warning voice of the woman playing the piano, "Be nice. Remember, she is your new boss."

New boss? Great, another stranger in our troupe. I eyed him suspiciously. I didn't like the way he threw his size around. I made eye contact with Bridget and tried to smile, but she looked away before she saw it.

"Three o'clock." Dell said, towering over Elsa, "There WILL be paying asses in these seats. I am gonna go to town and post some bills." He made eye contact with each of us in turn, "Be ready."

I shoved my hands in my pockets and squinted into the sun. How strange, to be performing in the middle of the day. I sighed, two new people again? That's a new act every day for the last three days. In the back of my mind I knew that adding more acts could only help us at that point, but it was strange to have our family grow so exponentially so quickly. I had to admit that between Bridget and Dell, Bridget seemed to be less of a threat. So far she hadn't done anything super suspicious, other than the way she hesitated when she said her name that first day. Now was the time to apologize, I knew, if I waited any longer it would be more awkward.

When I found her, she was perched on the farthest picnic table from where the rest of the group sat, listening to the radio and discussing the confrontation in rehearsal. Bridget sat, her sketchbook beside her, smoking a cigarette and staring blankly into space. She sucked so hard and for so long that I thought the whole thing would burn up. I wondered what she was thinking about.

"Hey." I said as I approached her. Her shoulders stiffened at the sound of my voice, she jumped up and made a move like she was going to leave.

"Wait!" i said as I reached out and grabbed her wrist, she turned quickly and stared at my hand on her wrist. I dropped it quickly. Oh-kay then. I threw my hands up, "Woah, you don't like to be touched; that's cool." I said and shoved my hands in my pockets again. She was wearing a sleeveless dress, her tattoos on full display. I was struck again by their beauty. They were even more impressive up close.

"What do you want?" She snapped, and lit another cigarette with the burning end of her old one. My lungs hurt just watching her.

"I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for the third degree last night." I said earnestly, rocking on my heals, "It was a stressful night, I don't know what came over me."

Bridget was silent for a beat, regarding me through narrowed eyes. "Why are you apologizing?" she accused, "What do you want?"

What? This girl was nuts, "Look, I don't want anything. I feel bad about what I said to you and I am asking you to forgive me. That's all."

"No one just apologizes." She answered defiantly, further frustrating me. This was turning out to be a total waste of time, I was about to snap at her again. It was just going to be a delusional cycle of apologizes, "You must want something."

I sighed, "I said I'm sorry and that's what I meant. Do you forgive me or not?" My hands were shaking in my pockets from the effort it took to not shake her.

"I guess." She said, turning her back to me. This was the weirdest conversation I'd ever had. I was not backing down.

"Why do you smoke so much?" I asked her. She sighed and turned to face me, her green eyes flashing.

"Do me a favor," She snapped, her voice icy, "Don't ask me any 'Who, where, what, or why' questions." Her dark hair was lifted off her shoulders by the force of her snapping her head back around, making it clear she didn't want me to stay.

Nothing was easy with this girl, not even a simple conversation. I struggled to keep my composure and forced a smile at the back of her head, "Why don't you come and sit with us?" I asked through gritted teeth, trying to keep the poison out of my voice.

"That's a 'why'." She said without looking at me, "I'm not doing 'whys' right now."

I felt my jaw drop as I stared at her shoulders. How could someone so pretty be so nasty? I prickled, wanting so badly to smack the cigarette out of her slim fingers. I was struck with the childish urge to kick the picnic table she was sitting on. Just to bug her. I took a deep breath and walked away. That had not been satisfying.

"Damn!" I said out loud when I was out of Bridget's earshot. Why, if she was the one acting like a bitch, did I still feel guilty?

**A/N Cont:**

**I wanted to address some things that have been left in reviews. **  
><strong>I'm sorry, I do not have a picture for refferance of her body art. It's all coming out of my head. :C Ditto for a face claim, however I would say that the closest person resembling my image of Bridget would be Alison Harvard with black hair and freakles, a narrower face and higher cheekbones. I hope that helps!<strong>  
><strong>Also, the guest reviewer who thinks I deleted a review: Sweetie, no! I would never delete a review, good or bad! I just had a filter on for guest reviews so that they wouldn't show up until two days later! I have since corrected that but since your review was sent before I did, it still got wait-listed! I'm sorry for the confusion and your reviews made my heart happy! :D <strong>

**As allways, thank you guys for your continued support in the forms of Faves/Follows/Reviews. You have no idea how it makes my day when I come home from work and find new reviews/faves/follows. I LOVE YOU GUYS!**

**ps. Prepare for a major Bridget/Jimmy moment in chapter 6! Thank you for bearing with me through my awkward begining!**


	6. 6 Bridget

Jimmy's shadow puppets were beautiful; he was able to bend the light in ways that a man with normal hands would never be able to. I was mesmerized as I stood, clutching the curtain so tightly that my knuckles were turning white. I clutched my tattoo gun in my other hand. It had taken me six months to steal enough money from my father to buy it. He made a good living writing his novels, and he kept the money in bags under the driver's seat of his truck. The trick was never stealing so much that he would notice it missing. The metal felt cold in my hands, the weight of it was comforting, like an extension of my own arm. I shivered even in the heat of the afternoon, my 'costume' didn't award me much coverage; a shiny gold two piece bathing suit that was much skimpier than anything I had ever seen on the beach. My long hair was braided, snaking down my back. When I had first looked in the mirror I had thought _warrior_.

"My claws don't hold me back!" Jimmy pulled three juggling balls out of his pockets and began to toss them expertly into the air. He had apologized for accosting me last night. I had never been apologized to in my life. Maybe when I was a real girl, but certainly never after. I wondered what he was after. When he grabbed my wrist his touch was different than any man's I had ever felt. It was firm, yes, but there was a gentleness behind it; like he didn't want to hurt me.

"You're up, kid." Dell, the Strong Man who had taken control of rehearsal the night before nudged me toward the stage. I shot him a warning glare; a viper in the grass, don't come closer.

The lights of the stage were bright, but not blinding. I could see the audience, hear their collective gasp as I emerged, holding my arms out wide and spinning on my toes. My back wasn't covered, I would need help with that one.

They were silent as I flicked the switch of my tattoo gun, the buzz seemed louder than ever before. Eve and Jimmy hauled a small table onto the stage where my small vies of ink sat. Green, blue, red, and black. This was going to be my first time using color.

I sat on the wooden floor of the stage and twisted so that the audience and I could see my thigh. The gun carved a path in the flesh of my thigh; One line, strait and true from my knee to my hip. Fat drops of blood mixed with black ink splashed on the stage. I breathed deeply; I was so very, very strong that I used the gun to carve a second line, then a third; forming the eye of a peacock feather.

I smelled him before I saw him; the rotten smell of burned flesh and stale cigarette smoke. My eyes flicked up toward the audience, scanning their faces that were filled with awe. My blood ran cold when my gaze landed on the face of my father. He was standing in the back row, his dead, eyes watching me, filled with hatred. I felt the gun fall through my fingers and crash to the floor. My vision began to swim, twisting the big top into a blurry mess. The crowd gasped at the blood pooling at my feet. Big black holes opened up in front of my eyes. My skin was slick with sweat. Suddenly the lights were too hot, the crowd too loud. The last thing I remember seeing before I crumpled to the stage in a heap was Jimmy's concerned face running to the stage.

/

The first thing that I noticed upon waking was that I was cold, though someone had tossed a thin blanket over me. The second thing was that I was not in my tent. I sat up and looked around the room, I was in someone's trailer. From the look of the mess, I would guess it was a boy's. There were three overstuffed, mismatched arm chairs circled around the large green couch that I was laying on. How long had I been out? I replayed the scene of my very first show back in my mind, sure there must have been a rational explanation for me seeing my father in the audience. It didn't make sense; he was nightmare, and I had been awake. I shivered again, my teeth chattering loudly.

"You're awake." Jimmy came around the corner, his deformed hands in his pockets. I noticed that he kept them there a lot. I pursed my lips, unhappy that of all people it was Jimmy Darling that had brought me to his trailer.

Jimmy noticed me shivering, "I'm not surprised that you're cold." He took a seat in the armchair closest to the couch, " You had the blood pressure and temperature of dirt. You need to eat more."

I ignored his comment, "This is your trailer?"

He nodded toward a large banner that had been put up in the corner, as though it had been set there for someplace to put it and no one ever bothered to move it again. It said "The Amazing Lobster Boy".

"Know any other 'Lobster Boys'?" Jimmy asked, as though I were an idiot.

I sighed and felt my shoulders slump, I was too tired, too cold to fight.

"Wow." Jimmy said, looking at me, "No biting comment? You really must be sick."

I shook my head, noticing that someone had undone my braid. For some reason I had a hard time believing that Jimmy had done it.

"I know how I come across." I said quietly, looking at my hands knotted on top of the thin blanket.

"Like a cold, unfriendly, bitch?" Jimmy snapped, not letting me finish. We were both taken by surprise at the poison in his voice. He stood quickly, gathering a large afghan that had been draped over the back of the chair he was sitting in. For a moment I thought he was about to leave, but instead he spread the afghan out over my body, "I'm sorry." He said, not looking at me as he tucked it around my hips and shoulders, "That was mean."

I shook my head when he stepped back, "It was honest." I admitted, burying my face in the afghan. The trailer was silent, as though waiting for me to tell him. I could try. Maybe not everything, maybe just the names; _Stupid, bitch, stupid, worthless, stupid whore_. The names that stabbed me when I got to thinking about them too much. Or maybe just the fact that I was lost in the world with no map and no compass.

Neither one of us dared to breath because we were both there; in the same space at the same time, no burning words or sidelong glares between us. Neither one of us wanted to break the spell.

If I told him all of my ugliness then, the fragile bridge we were standing on would crumble under the weight of it.

I fingered the bandage that someone had used to cover my incomplete tattoo and felt my eyelids start to flutter closed. Maybe my father wouldn't come tonight, and if he did, maybe Jimmy would protect me. Maybe.

**A/N:**

**Hey guys! Sorry for the short chapters lately! But I figured concise, short chapters were better than chapters full of filler nonsense! **  
><strong>My beta is back from vacation, she just hasn't had a chance to get back to me. But that is no problemo! :D <strong>  
><strong>As allways I want to thank you guys for all the favesfollows/reviews. Seriously, you guys are amazing. 3 **


	7. 7 Jimmy

I stood over Bridget, watching that strange girl fall asleep on my couch. Just like that; from a thousand miles an hour to asleep in a second. I was surprised by the sudden urge to lay down beside her and sleep. Not like what I do with the house wives, not even have sex; just sleep in the most innocent sense of the word. I shook that though out of my head. I didn't even like her! But she looked so much softer when she was asleep.

I let my eyes rest on her face; the defiant set of her jaw went slack and her lips parted slightly , her eyelids jumped with her dream and I was once again struck by a seemingly gravitational pull to curl up next to her.

In the end, though, I turned off the lights and walked alone to my bedroom because she was beautiful and I was deformed, and I was hopelessly boring and she was endlessly fascinating. As I crawled into my cold, lonely bed I thought that if people were wind; I was a breeze and Bridget was a hurricane.

/

Bridget was gone when I woke up the next morning. She had folded the blankets I had given her up and stacked them on the edge of the couch. I was simultaneously relieved and disappointed by her absence. There was something different in her last night, like she was too tired from carrying her heavy armor and had let it fall away for a rest. I didn't know what it meant that I was there to see it.

I stretched and made my way to the picnic area for breakfast, hungry and eager to see what Eve had prepared for breakfast. I grew more concerned the closer I got; there was no smell of frying bacon or coffee in the air. My stomach grumbled in protest.

"These damn Matinee's." Eve muttered as she came up beside me, Ma Patit in her arms, "I haven't had time to even think about breakfast." I looked at her, she looked exhausted. I smiled and took Ma Patit from her arms.

"Well, why don't we go out for breakfast?" I asked suddenly, surprising even myself. I was hungry, really hungry and there was no food at camp. The only solution was going to the diner.

Eve and Ma Patit giggled like I had just told a joke, "What?" I asked, my heart slamming against my ribcage, pumping adrenaline into my limbs.

"Jimmy, you're not serious." Eve rolled her eyes and took Ma Patit back into her arms.

"I'm serious as a heart attack," I answered my deformed fingers in the air like a boyscout. Eve's jaw dropped and I continued, "Eve, why not? We are people, we are hungry, and it's breakfast time. People are never going to accept us unless we make them!" I was almost shouting with excitement. It felt good to be _doing_ something.

Eve bit her lip as she considered, "Elsa wouldn't like it..." I could hear her resolve dissipating. I almost had her.

"What she doesn't know won't hurt her." I shrugged, pressing her.

Eve sighed, "What the hell. Let's see what happens." A small smile played on her lips and Ma Patit clapped.

I grinned, "Let's go invite the others."

/

Nearly everyone had accepted the invitation and were excited to get going. I was nervous but I would feel better knowing I had my family by my side. Bridget was the only one left to ask.

I found her on her usual perch; sitting on the top of the far picnic table with her bare feet on the bench, her sketchbook balancing on her knees and a cigarette in her hand. The slight breeze lifted her hair off of her shoulders. Was it just a trick of the light or did her hair look lighter? Sleeping last night and Sitting her, sketching was the only time I ever saw her sit still.

I tried to make my footsteps loud as I approached Bridget, so as not to startle her, but I'll be damned if that girl didn't jump a foot in the air when I said her name, "Bridget."

A small yelp of surprise escaped her lips as she jumped to her feet. I couldn't help but laugh at the sight of her standing facing me, her eyes wide and her hand fluttering near her heart. I bent down to scoop up the sketchbook and charcoal pencil that had fallen to the ground.

Bridget glared at me and I tried to stop laughing, turning my attention instead to the leather bound book in my hands, "What exactly are you always scribbling in here?" I asked, opening the cover. I was distracted by a sharp pain in my foot.

"Ouch!" She stomped my foot! I was surprised by how little my cheep boots did to protect my toes from her bare heel. I dropped the book and her hands shot out, quickly catching it before it hit the ground. I would have been impressed by her quick reflexes if I hadn't been for the pain radiating in my toes.

"It's not done yet." Bridget's face was stoney but her eyes flashed. I jumped on one leg grabbing my throbbing foot. She held the book to her chest and crossed her arms over it as though it were precious metal.

"Ow, Jeeze, I just wanted to invite you to breakfast." I whined. Her eyes widened and she took a step backward. I wanted to swallow my tongue. She thought I was asking her on a date, "No! Not like that a bunch of us are going!" I clarified, trying not to stumble on my words.

"A bunch of us?" She asked curiously.

"Yeah, from the camp."

Bridget cast her eyes downward and frowned, "Oh." She said simply, not meeting my gaze. She looked like she was trying to chose her words carefully, "I don't think that's such a good idea." She looked up at me then and bit her lip. I narrowed my eyes at her. How could I have been so stupid. She would never, could never understand. She may look like one of us but underneath those tattoos she was as normal as ever.

I felt like all the breath had been punched out of my lungs, anger replaced excitement, "What do you mean?" I challenged.

She flinched under the weight of my words. If I hadn't been so angry I would have recognized how hard that must have been for her to say, Bridget wasn't one to flinch. She said nothing.

"You chose this." I accused. She snapped her eyes back to mine. Gone was the uncertain Bridget from moments before, replaced by the tough one, "I didn't, my mom didn't, Paul, Eve, Meep." I took a shaky breath, "None of us chose this. I'm hungry, I want to have breakfast in a diner, in public." She just stared at me, I could see her cheek twitching as she ground her teeth. "You're still beautiful." I spat. It was not a compliment, but an accusation; she knew that.

"Looks don't interest me." She said, her voice was low, full of poison and challenge.

I sighed, all of the fight left me. "That's easy for you to say; you've never been ugly." I couldn't look at her. I hadn't meant to say that out loud. I didn't want to see the look of revulsion on her face or worse, her pity. I turned and walked away. Leaving Bridget the way she seemed to want to stay: alone.

**A/N:**

**Hello! Yes, I am still alive. I'm really sorry guys, but I bought a ton of new books and used the time I would normally have been writing, reading. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! And I hope you forgive me for neglecting 'Red Letter Day' for SO LONG.**

**Thank you guys for your amazing reviews. I love them, they brighten my day! I'll be back soon with Chapter 8!**

**xoxoxoxoxox**


	8. 8 Bridget

I studied Jimmy's pained face; the curve of his jaw, the slope of his shoulders and couldn't see what he saw; Jimmy wasn't ugly. He walked away without a backward glance and I felt deeply ashamed of myself. I had known what Jimmy wanted, no, _needed_ to hear. I just couldn't give it to him. The words had formed themselves easily in my throat, but my lips wouldn't let them pass

I sat stiffly on the bench of the picnic table. I wanted to forget what had transpired, drown out jimmy's voice echoing in my head, '_you've never been ugly_'; dripping with sadness. What he had said was so raw, so honest that I felt like I was intruding on an intimate moment he should have had with someone else. He should have shown that piece of his soul to another girl; a real girl. I was struck with the strangeness of it all as I opened my sketchbook to a fresh page.

I had planned to draw the landscape of the camp, but when my charcoal pencil to the paper my fingers didn't make a horizon line; instead they drew the contours of a cheek. Then a neck. Then an eyebrow. Then a jaw. Then a hint of the shadow on that jaw.

My hand was flying. I was drawing much more loosely than usual. My heart seemed to stop beating, I forgot to breath. Rough lines of his shoulders fell off at the bottom of the paper. I didn't want to draw his hands, not because I thought they were ugly, but because I didn't want that to be the main focus of this drawing.

I closed my eyes and tried to remember the exact shape of his eyes. When I opened them I imagined that I saw the real Jimmy walking back through the entrance to the camp. _That was fast_, I thought dismally as I looked down. Could he see me? Could he see my drawing? Oh..._no_. Jimmy looked bad. He had a black eye and a busted lip. Blood ran from his nose. My heart seemed to start up again with a Jolt. I grabbed my sketchbook off of the picnic table and took off in an all out sprint to find a secluded spot where I could take my full heart and examine what was in it alone.

/

Much to my relief, jimmy didn't perform at the show that evening. I didn't ask why, but assumed it had something to do with the injuries that he had sustained at the hands of Dell. I shook while Eve explained to me what had taken place at the diner. In short; it had gone badly, ending with Jimmy getting beat by Dell. I had known many men like him.

I sighed and rested my forehead on the scarred wood of the picnic table. I had been trying to draw but the pain from my fresh tattoo, a geometric mess of lines and circles and shading that now covered my left calf, demanded attention. I didn't know what was happening to me; I felt invisible as a dust mote and just at light, swirling and floating with no control over it.

"Come on, Bridget." Ethel Darling's voice cut through my pity party and jolted me back to the world.

"The police are here asking questions, they got a tip that someone from here killed a police officer." She explained in response to the question in my eyes. At her words I felt the blood drain from my face. She hooked me gently at the elbow and helped me to stand. I followed her without seeing. I racked my brain; did we leave any evidence? I couldn't remember.

Elsa was arguing heatedly when with a detective in a smart suit when we arrived. Jimmy looked concerned but calm, watching the action with his arms crossed and grim look on his face. I dropped my eyes. His confession still fresh in my mind, it felt too intimate a moment. I didn't know how we could ever speak again.

Elsa threw her arms up in resignation and seemed to accept there was nothing she could do to stop the search. She light a cigarette with an angry flourish. My throat itched with my own desire for a cigarette, but my fingers were cement.

The dective ran his eyes over my face and looked away before snapping his eyes back to mine. He made a face I couldn't decipher. _Shit_. I didn't think about the fact that I was probably Wanted in Georgia. I hoped the hair dye masked my identity enough. Even still I dropped my head so my hair would hide my face and side stepped so that I was slightly behind Ethel, praying that he would forget about me.

Dell strode confidently over to Jimmy when the officers entered his trailer. He whispered something in Jimmy's ear that caused Jimmy to pull back in confusion and horror.

At that exact moment the door to Meep the Geek's trailer banged open and a large officer strode out, holding tightly to a terrified Meep's arm.

"We found this under is bed roll." The officer said brandishing high the badge that Jimmy had kept. My brain refused to connect the dots that were right in front of my face.

The detective that had been eying me looked at Meep with hatred and disgust, "Take the little freak to jail."

I gasped as they thrust Meep into the back of a squad car. I looked at Jimmy openly, forgetting the awkwardness between us. He looked as though he were on the verge of vomiting. I glanced at Everyone's faces in turn; we were helpless.

/

The camp was unusually quiet that night. I stood in front of the full length mirror that Elsa had graciously sold me. I didn't recognize the girl in the mirror. Her long hair fell in tangles to her waist; a dirty color. I would have to go into town soon and buy more black dye. I fingered the skunky strands, it was almost like the yellow underneath was struggling to breath. I sighed and pulled it back, my fingers quickly pleating it into a french braid that snaked over my shoulder. I needed to be more careful, especially now that the cops were poking around.

That thought brought back the memory of Meep and I nearly doubled over. It wasn't that I particularly cared about Meep. In truth, he made me deeply uncomfortable, and I couldn't help but feel sad for the fluffy baby chicks that he brutally slaughtered. Still, Meep wasn't a murderer. I was. It should have been me in the back of that cop car.

I pulled on a white, sleeveless dress that I had brought with me from home. It had been my mother's before... I shook my head, grabbed my sketchbook and stepped into the warm Florida night.

Jimmy was at my picnic table. He was sitting like I usually did; on the top with his feet on the bench. He hadn't seen me seeing him yet, I could still run. My leg muscles twitched to flee the scene, crawl back into my little cot, and hide under the covers.

Before I could decide Jimmy looked up. I noticed his eyes were wild and a little unfocused as they met mine. My eyes fell to the bottle of whiskey in his deformed hands. It wasn't even halfway gone.

I tried to smile but imagined that it came off as more of a grimace. He shook his head and gestured to the space next to him, "Join me. It's not like tonight can get any worse." He laughed without humor and took a long pull from the bottle. The comment stung, but I wasn't such a horrible person that I would be...well..._me_ to him right now.

Wordlessly I took a seat next to him, putting my feet next to his. We sat like that for a while, silently staring at our feet; his large, and confined in work boots. Mine, small and bare.

I lit a cigarette.

"What are you doing here Bridget?" He asked me, I knew he wasn't talking about here at this picnic table with him.

I shrugged, "Why are you are? Why are they?" I gestured at the smattering of tents and trailers, "Why are any of us here?"

He nodded saddly and offered me the bottle of whiskey. The smell that invaded my small tent every night wafted from the open top. I wrinkled my nose and pushed his arm away, "No, thanks." My eyes watered from the fumes and I took a drag off my cigarette just for something to do with my hands, "That shit will kill your brain cells." I nodded at the bottle.

Jimmy laughed ruefully, eying my lit cigarette, "Those things are worse for you than alcohol."

I shrugged, "I may die young, but at least I'll die smart."

Jimmy smiled at me, for a fleeing moment it was a real smile. A rush of pleasure shot through my toes and tingled my hairline. Every so often Jimmy would give me a small smile like that, like I surprised him.

He suddenly reached over and fingered a strand of my hair that had fallen from the loose braid. He tugged it gently as he considered it, "Why do you dye your hair?" He asked, in a voice barely above a whisper.

Boom. My doors locked and my walls went up. I swatted his hand away, "None of your business." I snapped. I tried to sound mad, but even to my own ears I sounded scared.

"I don't understand you." Jimmy's voice came out rough. He was angry.

"That's the point, Jimmy." I tossed my cigarette butt to the ground, "You never get me."

"What are you so afraid of?" Jimmy asked, looking me dead in my eyes. The alcohol was making him bold, fueling this fire. My skin prickled in warning. Danger! Danger!

I stuck out my chin, "I'm not afraid of anything."

"Bullshit." Jimmy spat, "You're afraid of this fucking conversation."

I opened my mouth to protest but Jimmy just spoke louder, "You're even lying to yourself."

I felt like he had just slapped me across the face, or worse that he was treading dangerously close to figuring me out. It was a violating feeling; after years of being invisible to have someone trying to decode you.

"Fuck!" Jimmy screamed, he slammed his palm on the table between us, "Fucking Meep! It should have been me." Jimmy's voice was mangled with sobbs. I felt the space between us grow wider as he cried. I knew I should confort him but I couldn't find the words.

Instead I opened my sketchbook and tore out the drawing of Jimmy that I had done the day before. I laid it on the table between us and stood up.

"You're not ugly, Jimmy." I whispered. The words were late. They were what he had needed the day before, not the ones he needed now, but they were the only ones I had so I gave them. I turned just as the weight of my words registered on his face and walked quickly and deliberately back to my tent.

I felt so closed off and cold that I almost didn't register the large pick up truck that pulled into the camp. I turned and watched them back up toward the entrance. Jimmy had stood up and walked closer to investigate. Two men in the back hoisted a bag of something heavy over their heads and tossed it off the back before driving back the way they came.

I started running as Jimmy approached the bag. Jimmy's screams that pierced the night confirmed what I had known in my heart of hearts. Meep was in that bag. He didn't survive the night in jail.

Hot tears fell down my cheeks as I buried myself under my thin blankets without getting undressed. Meep was dead, and it was my fault. Jimmy would blame himself and that was also my fault. I cried until I was sure I had no tears left and then I cried some more. I cried for myself, for Meep, for Jimmy, for my father and then for myself again.

/

That night, in my dream; my father held me down while Jimmy opened me up; pulling apart my insides, removing my stomach, my brain, my heart. I screamed when Jimmy held up my heart and smiled, his teeth bloody. "We found it." He sewed me up without putting everything back in. I felt hollow and empty and the worst thing was that without my heart I couldn't even cry.

**A/N:**

**Hey guys! I hope you enjoy this chapter! It was a hard one for me to write. Don't forget to leave a review if you liked it, if you hated it. Any feedback is deeply appreciated!**

**As always, thank you guys for your support. You're amazing. And a special thanks to NotMarge, for your unwavering support. You're amazing. Seriously you guys, if you like Jimmy you should read her story 'Just People.' Its so good. And her story 'A Winter in Wisconsin' is seriously my favorite.**

**xoxoxox**


	9. 9 Jimmy

_This is what dying feels like_. I thought as I wiped the back of my dirty hand across my forehead. The sun seemed especially unforgiving as the grave I was digging grew wider and deeper. I had yet to sleep off the bottle of whiskey that I had managed to put away the night before and was now firmly entrenched in the hangover stage. Each time I blinked to keep the droplets of salty sweat that poured from my hairline out of my eyes, it felt like sandpaper scraping across them. I longed for sleep, but I refused myself the luxury. Meep didn't get to sleep; he had been beaten to death in his cell for being a 'child killer'. Being an alleged 'cop killer' as well had garnished him no sympathy from the officers.

My knuckles whitened as I gripped the handle of the shovel and tried not to be sick over the thought that Meep's screams fell on deaf ears. Someone would pay for what had been done to Meep. Just because he was a little weird - a 'freak'- no one had bothered to listen. If the officer had paid one ounce of attention he would have taken one look at Meep and known that he was simply physically unable to do what they said he did. But Meep was the easy scapegoat, and now he was dead.

My mind was skirting around the most painful part, trying to shield me from what I know deep in my core; I am a coward. I killed the cop, if I had confessed it would be my body in that bag, and all would be right with the world. _You didn't die in vain, buddy_, I swore silently to my fallen brother, _I _will_ avenge your death_. I let fresh tears fall from my eyes and soak into the ground where Meep would be buried in just a few hours time and added, out loud, "I'm so sorry."

/

Somehow I found the strength to finish digging Meep's grave, but I had none of it left as I dragged my tired feet across through the entrance to the big top. A wall of noise and movement hit me like a punch in the stomach and made the sour liquid in my gut slosh menacingly. I felt disappointment welling in my heart, but i didn't have the energy to be angry.

"Where have you been?" Bette asked me in that dreamy way of her's when I sat heavily in a folding chair.

"Digging Meep's grave." I answered bluntly, rubbing my tired eyes.

Realization seemed to hit both sisters at once and I would be lying if it wasn't a little satisfying to see their shame. Dott stood and raised her voice to address the troupe, "We should all be ashamed of ourselves." She said, her voice booming across the big top and causing everyone to look her way, "Meep is dead. Can't you see how much pain Jimmy is in? We should be mourning him, maybe even dedicate the show to him tonight." She seemed close to tears, so I covered her hand with my own to convey my gratitude.

"There ain't gonna be no show tonight." My mother's voice carried from where she was sitting, leaning heavily to once side and clutching a bottle of Rye, "Any freak that performs on Halloween Night will summon Edward Mordrake." She continued once she was satisfied that she had everyone's attention. I rolled my eyes and wished I was in my bed. I had heard the silly folk tale my entire life. I still wasn't sure if my mother truly believed the bullshit she was spouting or if she just enjoyed scaring people. Either way, I was in no mood for her shit.

"Who is Edward Mordrake?" Bridget asked. I whipped around to locate her. She was sitting cross legged on the piano bench, smoking. She was trying to hide her fading hair under a red bandana. My head suddenly swam with memories from the night before; Me drunkenly arguing with Bridget, her drawing, her words. I couldn't place the strange feeling that came over me. I remembered now; I shoved her drawing into my pocket and was about to run after her when the truck came. Meep overshadowed everything else. _You're not ugly, Jimmy_. Bridget's words echoed in my head, causing my blood to pound and my head to throb more rhythmically. My fingers twitched with the urge to pull it from my pocket and look at it right now, but I couldn't do that.

Bridget's eyes met mine and widened a fraction. Shit - I had been openly staring at her. I averted my eyes quickly and pressed my sweaty palms into my thighs.

"He was a carnie" My mother continued like my world hadn't just been tipped on its axis, "In a Freak Show just like this..."

I let my mind wander for this part of the story, I knew it like I knew the back of my deformed hand; Edward Mordrake apparently looked like a regular Joe but he had another face on the back of his head. Apparently this 'demon face' would whisper all kinds of crazy shit to him until he finally snapped and murdered his whole troupe and then hung himself.

"...if you perform on Halloween night Edward Mordrake will come to you, and he will take a freak with him." My mother finished, her words slurring. I sighed and chanced another glance at Bridget. She, like the rest of my friends, was sitting rapt with attention, a look of terror on her face. Meep, Bridget's drawing, my mother's stupid story, it was all too much to take.

"Enough!" I shouted, standing and kicking the folding chair I had been sitting in, "Why do you want to scare them like that?" I advanced on her, she narrowed her eyes when I snatched the bottle out of her hand, "What are you doing, Ma? I thought you quit this shit?" I shook the bottle under her nose, worry creeping into my voice. My mother had previously had a bad drinking problem when i was a kid, but she kicked it! Elsa saved us and helped her kick it. Why would she start again?

"It's the truth, and you're a fool if you don't head my words!" She snapped back at me.

I tossed the bottle to the floor, where it smashed and rounded on her, 'It's bullshit! Nothing but a stupid scary story."

I felt like the air around me weighed a thousand pounds and was a thousand degrees. It was too hot, too crowded, and it was crushing me. Without looking back I ran out of the big top and gulped in fresh air. I stuck my hands in my pockets and my fingers brushed the edge of Bridget's drawing. My heart thundered in my chest and I worked hard to suppress the urge to take it out of my pocket. I wanted to be alone; away from the dirty camp and away from the noise. I walked toward the line of trees that bordered the camp. There was an open field close by; it would be the perfect place.

/

When I reached the field, I could resist no longer and sat amongst the tall grass and pulled the drawing from my pocket. My hands shook as I unfolded it and smoothed it out on my knee. How could I ever have called it a 'doodle'? _You're not ugly, Jimmy_, I remembered Bridget's words as I gazed at the drawing. It was quiet, but so beautiful that it made my throat ache. My pulse quickened, Bridget had drawn me, but not me as I saw myself. it gave me chills from my scalp to the balls of my feet. The drawing not only showed Bridget's technical mastery and her eye for intricate detail, but also contained so much grace, so much feeling that for once I didn't look and see the face of a monster. I didn't feel ugly. I felt my eyes grow wet when I noticed that Bridget didn't draw my hands. She didn't draw them because she didn't see them; this, the man in the drawing, was who I was to her.

I hugged the drawing to my chest like I could soak Bridget up through the fibers. There were no words to express the gift she had given me.

"Hello? Hi. Can you help me?" A woman's voice carried through the tall grass and startled me.

I hurried to dry my eyes. I thought I was alone! I folded Bridget's drawing carefully and put it back in my pocket. I had already resolved to keep it there, to remind myself that someone saw me as more than 'The Amazing Lobster Boy".

When I stood and turned to face my visitor I almost fell back down again. The way that she was standing, silhouetted by the sun, in the tall grass, smiling that red lipped smile was like a damn postcard. She was beautiful and she was standing right in front of me, smiling a beautiful, straight toothed smile.

/

She was 'Mystic Miss Esmeralda', and she was looking for a job. She had asked me to take her to Elsa, and of course I obliged; it wasn't every day a beautiful stranger stumbles upon you in a field and needs your help. Especially if you have lobster hands.

I couldn't stop grinning as I stood in front of Elsa with my hat in my hands, explaining the beautiful stray that had followed me home.

Elsa considered me, a look of amusement on her face, "Send her in. I am not so weak in the presence of a pretty face." She smiled at me, and I could barely contain my excitement as I hurried to ushered Mystic Babe inside.

"Leave us to our...reading." Elsa waved me away, her eyes on Miss Mystic.

I smiled again before exiting the tent. As soon as I was free from the beauty I felt a stab of guilt. How could I act like that after what had happened to Meep? He should be here, and I should be in a body bag being readied for burial. As quickly as they had risen, my spirits fell. I slowly made my way to the picnic table, hoping to find it empty. I wasn't ready to pretend to be okay yet.

I was relieved to find that Bridget was the only one wasn't the prying type. For once she wasn't drawing or smoking. She was just gazing out across the field. Her hair was still pulled back under a bandana but the expression on her face was one of calm. She was sitting mere feet in front of me but I could tell that her mind was miles from here. Bridget's strange calm pulled me toward her like a magnet.

Her eyes snapped to my face when she heard my footsteps. Her face remained expressionless, like she had been expecting me, and she slid over a few inches to make room for me. I was unnerved by her calm. Seeing her like this made me notice how tense she was all the time; how she carried herself like a rabbit in a wolf sat together in silence for a while. Each of us absorbed in our own thoughts. Bidget nibbled the skin around her thumb thoughtfully.

"Elsa says we're going to perform tonight." She flicked her eyes toward mine before examining her thumb nail.

I scoffed, "Good. you don't believe that garbage, do you?" Bridget didn't seem like the type to believe in ghost stories.

She shrugged, "All I'm saying is that I am no stranger to unexplainable things."

There was something in her voice that made me look at her again, harder. I could see now that what I had thought was a calm expression was actually one of deep sadness. There were dark shadows under her eyes, her nails were bitten down to almost nothing. I could see now the dozens of cigaret butts that littered the ground around her bare feet like confetti, the empty container lay crumpled and forgotten, her dress hung off of her thin shoulders.

"Bridget, are you okay?" I asked her, concern lacing my voice. She had that far away look in her eyes again, but this time there was something underneath it - fear.

She shook her head 'No', but before I could inquire further, Bridget changed the subject by nodding toward Elsa's, "New meat?" She asked in way that made me believe that she didn't really care. I wanted to ask her again what was wrong, but the look on her face told me now was not the time to press her. Whatever was bothering her, I didn't want to make it worse. Besides, look what happened to Meep under my supposed care.

"Maybe." I answered, keeping my eyes on Bridget's face, "She's a fortune teller."

She nodded, "Think she's for real?"

I shook my head, "If she is a gypsy I am the Easter Bunny, but the customers don't have to know it; The question that remains is, how well can she fake it?"

"You know," Bridget said absently, "I am actually disappointed. It would be nice if someone could tell me if I am going to be okay or not."

I looked at her hard until she made eye contact with me. I leaned in close so she could see how much I meant it when I told her, "Bridget, if anyone is going to be okay, it's you."

She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes, "Thank you, Jimmy, but you don't really know me very well."

There was so much sadness in her voice that I was rendered speechless. Whatever ghosts had chased her here were catching up to her. I was worried about what would happen when they finally caught her.

I was so absorbed in watching Bridget that I didn't notice when the fake fortune teller approaching us.

"Am I interrupting something?" She asked, eying me and Bridget and the very small space between us. I opened my mouth to tell her yes, and that I would be with her in a second, but Bridget was too quick.

"No," Bridget said standing quickly, "I was just leaving."

"Wait-" I tried to stop her but she waved her hand at me.

"I'm fine. Really, Jimmy. I'm just a little tired. I think I am going to go lay down before the show tonight." She turned to Miss Mystic and explained, "I'm doing a big leg piece and I want to rest up." Her eyes flicked from the new girl's to mine. They seemed to be pleading with me to drop the subject and let her go.

I pressed my lips together into a line, "Fine, I'll talk to you later." I looked hard at Bridget, trying to swear with my eyes that I would be back for her.

"Whatever, it's fine." She said before walking off toward her tent. I watched her go with a growing anxiety. Something was clearly wrong, but I couldn't help her unless she let me in.

"Jimmy?" Miss Mystic asked, pulling my attention away from Bridget's retreating form, "I left my purse at the pay phone, would you take me to go get it?"

I smiled and jingled the keys to my motor bike, "Ready when you are, doll."

**A/N:**

**Hello! Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Joyous Kwanza, or Good Day to you all!**

**I wish I could upload the notebook draft of this chapter because, oh my djfnsdj, you guys ; It is so different from what I originally had.**

**I went back and forth about going AU with this and omitting Maggie completely, but in the end I decided that would be less challenging and that is not what this is about!**

**Can you smell the draaamaaa?**

***cue the spooky music***

**I want to thank you guys for favoriting, following and reviewing. It's amazing to see how well this story is taking off. When I first started I had no idea that it would become something, and with your help it has!**

**What did you think?**

**Reviews are appreciated, help me write the best story I can!**

**xoxoxoxox**


	10. 10 Bridget

I waited until I heard Jimmy leaving the camp with the new recruit before leaving my tent and returning to my picnic table. Even standing there alone for a few minutes made my stomach turn and my blood cold.

My father seemed to have gotten angrier, stronger, in the last few days. He no longer smiled menacingly at me from the shadows. Every night he attacked; screaming holes in my brain, puking blood down my throat. I was so tired I didn't know what was a dream and what was reality anymore. I saw him everywhere; in the line of trees that surrounded the field, in the audience members of the show, in the reflections of mirrors. He was here because of what I did to him, he wanted his pound of flesh and he wouldn't stop until he had it.

I sat stiffly on the bench and put my face in my hands. I longed to smell my mother's green scented perfume, fleeting and sweet. When I was a real girl, my mother would brush my long blonde hair and whisper the legends of the Vikings. She told me that to slash each other to ribbons in battle each day and be put back together each night was the Vikings' idea of Heaven. I didn't understand her then, but I did now. I was living it; eternal slaughter. Every night my father would come and tear me apart in my bed, only to have me wake, whole again in the morning.

"How're you doing, Bridget?" A thick English accent asked from behind me. It took me a moment to realize that it was me that Paul was speaking to. In answer, I shook my head and pressed my finger tips into my temples.

I felt Paul's weight drop onto the bench beside me. He set a Mason Jar full of garish brown liquid on the worn top of the picnic table. I raised one eyebrow at him before he motioned with his small arm for me to take a drink. I hesitated a moment before raising the jar to my lips.

"Ugh!" I sputtered after I had managed to swallow the offending liquid. It burned the whole way down, setting fire to my belly. Paul laughed and I glared at him.

"I'm sorry," He apologized, "I should have warned you."

"It's not so bad." I assured him. The fire had dulled, leaving only a pleasant warm sensation behind, "Once the burn wares off." I continued.

Paul was staring at me, his eyes roaming over my face and my shoulders, my skunky hair. I self consciously rubbed my arm. Despite the heat of the day, I felt a chill.

"You're having a tough go of it, huh?" Paul asked kindly. I wasn't sure what to say. I was used to fielding Jimmy's aggressive and accusing inquires but Paul's kindness was something else entirely.

"Do me a favor," Paul said, sensing my unease at his question. He pushed the Mason Jar at me, "Take a drink, close your eyes, and breathe."

I rolled my eyes, "That's dumb."

Paul smiled and pushed the jar toward me again, "I know, but do it anyway."

I sighed, sipped, set the jar back down and closed my eyes. The sounds of the camp seemed to slowly fade away with the burn of the liquor. The sun felt warm on my face and bare arms.

"Keep breathing." Paul ordered, his voice a distant rumble of thunder.

The wind lifted my hair off of my shoulders, reminding me about my need to go to town and buy more dye. Every time I washed it seemed to grow lighter, like the blonde underneath was struggling for freedom. I got my coloring from my mother; fair, almost translucent, our hair the color of a peeled banana.

When I opened my eyes a minute later, Paul was watching me closely.

"Better?" He asked.

"Better, thanks."

Paul was so sweet, so freakishly kind that I forgot to be a bitch and fell into like with him the moment I had finished his little breathing exorcise. Suddenly, I had a friend. A real friend for the first time since I was a real girl. Having a friend made everything seem to suck less. Even if he was technically Jimmy's friend first.

"Elsa's waiting for me in her tent." Paul said, grabbing the jar off of the table and standing.

I nodded, sad to see him go. I didn't feel safe alone anymore.

/

It was with trembling hands that I reentered my tent after our performance. The throbbing of my fresh tattoo matched the rhythm of my heart pounding in my rib cage. I stood in the middle, letting the heavy air settle around me. It felt different tonight, threatening but also not. It unsettled me and left me restless.

A faint green mist crept around my bare ankles. I halted my breathing and clutched the hem of my dress in both hands. I closed my eyes, sure that was the moment when my father would finally exact his revenge. I swallowed and lifted my chin; I wouldn't be a coward in my final moments.

"Child, what in your life has brought you here?" It was not my father's voice, creaking and halting. It was soft and smooth as butter.

I turned around slowly and nearly fell to the floor when I saw a handsome man in a black cloak and top hat, leaning lazily on a cane, one leg crossed over the other. He was watching me with black eyes.

I couldn't find my voice. Jimmy was dead wrong. Edward Mordrake was real, and he was standing in my tent.

"Come now, I haven't much time." He urged me.

I swallowed, "I-I'm not sure what you mean."

"I want you tell me your story, my dear." Edward stood up straight and looked at me almost...kindly, "Don't lie. It will know."

I knew he was talking about the 'Demon Face' that was concealed beneath his top hat.

"I killed my father." I spat quickly, trying to control the tremor in my voice, " In cold blood. I knew exactly what I was doing. And I am not sorry." The words burst from my lips, fell from my mouth like stones, like the rancid blood that poured from my father's throat every night.

With shaking fingers I extracted a cigarette from my pack and flicked the lighter.

"That was a symptom of a much bigger pain." He watched me through the smoke from my cigarette. A symptom? Is that all it was? The reason my father beat me daily, whored me out to his writer friends, it was all a symptom?

I toyed with my cigarette, watching the paper around the cherry as it curled and blackened like my father's skin.

"I was thirteen years old..." I started, closing my eyes.

Georgia: 1944

My mother had been in bed for nearly three weeks. It was one of the longest bad spells that I could remember. I was playing outside in the garden, picking armfuls of dandelions and tossing them in the air around me, when I heard the back door open.

My mother watched me, blinking in the light for a moment before walking to where I stood. I stopped twirling in the falling flowers and watched her, pleased that she had chosen such a beautiful day to come back to the world.

She knelt down, her nightgown brushing the blades of green grass. She began gathering the fallen blossoms with her thin, graceful fingers. I thought she looked like an angel, kneeling beside the heads of fluffy yellow weeds, the sun illuminating her pale hair like a halo. She smiled as she braided the stems of the dandelions, her fingers deftly twisting and bending them into a crown.

She fingered the hundreds of soft petals. "We are the ones who sacked Rome." She said, still examining her chain of flowers. That confused me; I wanted to ask her what she meant, but she suddenly snapped her head up and looked around as though confused as to how she got from her bed to the garden. When her eyes fell on me she paused, as if she were seeing me for the first time, "You're a woman now." She said it as though she was surprised to look up and find me not five anymore.

She stood slowly, unsteady as a fawn on her legs. She placed the crown of flowers on my head and kissed the sun warmed top of my hair.

"Don't forget who you are, Elizabeth." She whispered, running her hand along my face, her thumb tracing my cheekbone.

She turned and I followed her quietly into our house. The moment felt surreal, even to thirteen year old me.

I stopped in the living room while she turned and walked down the hallway. I heard a door shut and then the water for the bath running. I smiled, she was coming back to me.

I settled on the floor and watched the dust motes swirling in the rays of sunlight that filtered through the windows. I felt like I was inside of a snow globe that had just been tipped over. I extended my hand and watched the way the disturbance of air sent the dust flying.

I don't know how long I sat there like that, mesmerized by the dust. Too long. The water for the bath was still running. I slid the flower crown off of my head and tip toed down the hall. I pressed my ear to the bathroom door. After so long, the hot water must have run out. Was she taking a cold bath?

"Mom?" I called through the door. She didn't answer. Unpleasant goose bumps prickled my arms. "Mom?" I called louder, rapping my knuckles against the door.

I felt something wet on my toes, when I looked down I saw water leaking out from beneath the door. My heart stopped.

"Mom!" I screamed, banging on the door with my closed fists. The door suddenly swung open, as if someone on the other side had simply let me in. I stood in the doorway, paralyzed.

The bathwater was tinted a deep red making it seem as though there were gallons of blood. Her head was rolled unnaturally to one side, her eyes were staring but not seeing.

Jupiter, Florida: 1952

I had dropped to my knees in front of Edward Mordrake while telling my story, I wanted to finish it. He needed to hear the end.

I tried to stand but my head felt all wrong. I couldn't focus on anything; not on the ghostly whisper, "Not the one.", Not on the green mist disappearing into the stale air. I felt panicked, like I needed to be moving. I stood without thinking and burst through the flap of my tent. I vaguely heard Paul's voice calling me to come back, but I ignored it. It seemed like it was coming from a million miles away.

I ran for what felt like miles, hot tears pouring from my eyes. When I couldn't run anymore I fell to the ground and let it catch me. I laid on the muddy bank and let the memories overtake me because I couldn't hold them back anymore.

My beautiful mother with the blood pouring from her wrists into the bathwater; her face that didn't move even though I screamed at her to look at me. I was screaming and her face stayed still no matter how hard I shook her. I screamed and screamed until someone came and took me away.

That was how the story went. That was how it really ended.

/

I don't know who found me that night, laying in the field, drenched with sweat and shaking like a leaf. I don't know who carried me back to my tent, laid me on my bed and tucked me in. I may never know, but I was never so grateful for my little cot, for warm hands brushing my hair from my face, for kind words whispered softly like butterfly wings.

My daze lasted into the next morning, I woke only long enough for snippets of conversations to float in and out of my ears.

"Killer clown!"

"Jimmy's a hero!"

"Saved all those kids."

"Meep was innocent. It was the clown the whole time."

I wished for the strength to get out of bed, but I couldn't find it. Instead I let the heavy darkness of unconsciousness settle over me like a lead blanket and drifted away like she used to.

**A/N:**

**Seriously, if you or anyone you know is or may be experiencing suicidal thoughts please ask for help. I know there is a stigma associated with depression but there shouldn't be. Please don't let the fear of what people will think of you stop you from getting help.**

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